<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Like the Sunrise in the Morning by Thatmalu</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080876">Like the Sunrise in the Morning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatmalu/pseuds/Thatmalu'>Thatmalu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Also I guess kinda cyberpunk?, Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Brainwashing, Comedian Richie Tozier, Daddy Kink, Eddie Kaspbrak Needs A Hug, Eddie Kaspbrak Whump, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Gay Disaster Richie Tozier, Inspired by Dollhouse, M/M, No like literally oblivious, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Pining, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Top Richie Tozier, Whump, at least far enough in the future where this technology wouldn't be side-eyed so easily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatmalu/pseuds/Thatmalu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Richie’s acquaintance had told him about Dollhouses, Richie had to admit he was a bit skeezed out. </p>
<p>“Why don’t I just get myself a fancy sex robot?” Richie scoffed. “I’m sure Amazon will deliver one.”</p>
<p>“It ain’t like that,” Patrick began. “These things are top of the fucking line. They walk and talk and shit. Some AI technology or something. Super sophisticated.”</p>
<p>“Fucking a robot; very sophisticated.”</p>
<p>“They’re very discrete,” Patrick went on. “That’s what you want, right? If you’re not ready to come out to the public, just get your rocks off in private and keep your mouth shut.”</p>
<p>So Richie figured -- what the hell, right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>199</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Dollhouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, y'all.</p>
<p>So I heard about these Dollhouses in Cyberpunk which began a downward spiral into one of my all-time favorite shows -- Yeah, Dollhouse. Seriously, it's so good (and sad).</p>
<p>THEN. This happened. I have it set to three, but this will likely be a short 3-5 chaptered fic. I was gonna wait and make it a longer one shot but I'm eager and just wanted to get the start of this out there so I can work on some other projects here and there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**please let me know if anything else can be tagged. Minor spoilers: dubcon is tagged because Richie has no idea what's going on.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Richie’s acquaintance had told him about Dollhouses, Richie had to admit he was a bit skeezed out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t I just get myself a fancy sex robot?” Richie scoffed. “I’m sure Amazon will deliver one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It ain’t like that,” Patrick began. “These things are top of the fucking line. They walk and talk and shit. Some AI technology or something. Super sophisticated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking a robot; very sophisticated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re very discrete,” Patrick went on. “That’s what you want, right? If you’re not ready to come out to the public, just get your rocks off in private and keep your mouth shut.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Richie figured -- what the hell, right? If anything, he could make a stand-up bit about this, bend the truth slightly and pretend he had gotten a </span>
  <em>
    <span>female</span>
  </em>
  <span> sex toy. Something with big tits. That would fit into his regular, garbage routine. Most people would take it as a joke anyway, second guessing whether or not Richie had been to one of these places.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck is this, a doctors office?” Richie asked the lady at the desk when she handed him some forms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s to make your stay more pleasurable,” she smiled at him. “We recommend it for first-timers. Leave anything blank if you wish, but we aim to make all of our customers as satisfied as possible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Body type. Sexual orientation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Safe words. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie felt like he was making a fucking Sim while checking off boxes to build his perfect little sex machine. After Richie handed his shit back, he waited in the lobby for a few minutes before they told him his </span>
  <em>
    <span>doll</span>
  </em>
  <span> was ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door closed behind him and Richie took a minute to take in the setting. Spacious. Dim lighting. A large bed was placed in the center, a couch on the side, a damn mirror against the wall. There were even drawers in the walls labeled with various sex toys that Richie was more or less familiar with. He sat down on the edge of the bed just as the door on the opposite side of the customer entrance slid open and closed gently behind the man who had entered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck?” Richie said immediately, springing up to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, big guy,” the other man simpered. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie was pretty damn sure he had never seen a </span>
  <em>
    <span>toy</span>
  </em>
  <span> like this before. Richie was pretty damn sure this was a fucking person looking right back at him, although somehow catered to Richie’s prefect wet dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man or </span>
  <em>
    <span>doll</span>
  </em>
  <span> or whatever the fuck it was, was casually leaning against the entryway with the door closed behind him. It stood in nothing but tight briefs that hugged its thighs. It was as if the agency had plucked a Calvin Klein model straight from a magazine and shrunk it down to a petite, slender man with tanned abs and runners legs. It looked up at Richie with these irresistibly large, brown eyes curtained behind jet-black hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I just -- you look so -- real,” Richie sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the doll laughed, one of its fists balled up against its chest as if it were trying to stop a coughing fit, as if the laugh physically pained it. The way its eyes crinkled as it threw its head back, Richie realized what was making him so goddamn uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t just that it looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>real,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it looked like someone Richie </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew.</span>
  </em>
  <span> In fact, the longer Richie stared, the more he began to wonder if they had cloned his childhood crush and turned it into Richie’s perfect little model toy. But that was a bizarre thought, Richie realized. There was no way they’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> who Richie was that intimately. They had simply given him what he requested, and it was only now he was realizing that he was still pining for whatever man Edward Kaspbrak had become, because that’s exactly what it looked like they gave him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have a name?” Richie asked, trying to relax back down on the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like me to have one?” the doll asked sweetly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh. Could -- could I call you Eddie?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, what a fucking weirdo you are, Richard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something odd flashed across the dolls face -- perhaps registering the name in its cyborg head or whatever the fuck these things did. Once it was over, it only smiled brighter. “I can be Eddie for you, baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool,” Richie nodded. “Awesome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What should I call you?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked, sauntering over shyly towards Richie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh.” Anonymous. It’s just like a doctor or a priest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And even fuck you like the latter would,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Richie thought darkly. “You can call me Richie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, Richie,” Eddie said, gently sliding into Richie’s lap and straddling him. “What can I do for you, Richie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was too fucking weird. Richie could feel real </span>
  <em>
    <span>heat</span>
  </em>
  <span> coming off of Eddie’s body, the softness of its </span>
  <em>
    <span>skin</span>
  </em>
  <span> or whatever this was, the sweetness in its voice. God, it even </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounded</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the real Eddie. But when was the last time Richie saw him? When they were 16? That was over a decade ago. His memory was probably off. This was -- this must’ve been modeled off of someone famous. The doll kind of looks like Anthony Perkins or some shit. Yeah, that’s it. Someone well-known, not someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span> knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, Richie felt uncomfortable now at the idea of touching this thing. There was a reason he had never settled for a hooker before. Something seemed unjust about it and, with it still being illegal and unprotected, Richie could never be too sure who had genuinely chosen a humble career path and who was reluctantly stuck under an overbearing pimp. Nothing seemed very </span>
  <em>
    <span>consensual</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Supposedly, this was a doll, but it irked Richie too much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we -- uh -- just talk? For now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything for you, handsome,” Eddie beamed, shifting gracefully so that both of its legs were on one side of Richie where it sat on his lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The back of one of its hands was caressing Richie’s cheek and Richie doesn’t think he’s felt anything so intimate before, even in all his ‘relationships.’ Eddie’s eyes were boring into his soul the entire time he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>chatted,</span>
  </em>
  <span> eventually getting lost in the comfort of confessing to a beautiful strange thing. It was shattering to know his hour was eventually up and he was guided back out to the lobby, trying to take one last mental snapshot of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss? How do I request the same doll for another time?” Richie asked the receptionist. “Does he -- does it have like a name, or…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can put them on your profile,” she told him kindly. “We’ll just scan the barcode for you when we go to wipe them. If you ever want to schedule ahead of time, you can make customizations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Customizations?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clothes, make-up, hair color,” she explained. “Same with the room, if this one wasn’t to your liking. Anything else I can do for you today, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie looked back down the hallway, a strange longing already building in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, big guy. What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Richie said, slumping in his seat. “Right. They wipe you between sessions. Uh, Richie. Call me Richie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anything that you would like to call me, Richie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie sighed. “Eddie. I’d like to call you Eddie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The eyes did that thing again, like it was processing the name Richie had given it. “I can be Eddie for you, baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, geez,” Richie sighed. Must have been programmed dialogue. As Eddie sat in his lap this time, Richie took note of its body and spotted the tiny little barcode on the wrist. “All right, uh. Tell me -- tell me about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Part of him was curious what the thing would say and he was pleasantly surprised when Eddie wrapped a lithe arm around Richie’s shoulder and gave him some quick, contrived backstory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much to say about little ole’ me. I grew up with my mother in a small, quiet town. I didn’t get around too much until I came to the big city. It was really scary being out on my own; never had a daddy to teach me everything.” It gently took Richie’s chin and forced Richie to look down at him with the most sultry look Richie thinks he’s ever seen. “Would you be my Daddy tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An involuntary groan escaped Richie’s throat. Right. He checked off the Daddy kink. They probably programmed that into the doll for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, uh, could we talk a little more?” Richie stammered. “I’m still a little uncomfortable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything for you, handsome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can still call me Daddy, though,” Richie blurted out. He had to get his money's worth out of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if it was just jerking off to the memory of Eddie's voice calling him Daddy later in night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, big guy. What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was the eighth time Richie had been greeted like this. Each time, he had given his name, given the doll the name Richie wanted to call it. But there was a sick obsession that Richie was starting to build around this thing, a connection that should not exist between man and object, and Richie had to remind himself that this was exactly what this was: an object.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So this time, Richie got up and did not hesitate to grab it by the back of its hair -- hair that was now bleached blond over meticulously drawn eyeliner and painted eyeshadow so Richie could dissociate it from the face he had been talking to over the weeks. He yanked its head back harshly and whispered into its ear: “Call me Daddy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>reminding himself </span>
  </em>
  <span>-- that his was just a thing, just a very humanoid fleshlight, Richie was fucking it rougher than he likely would have if it had been a person. There were nearly three decades of repressed anger built up inside of him, knowing he could never actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone the way he wanted. His life was now structured around this persona that too many people knew and he was too much of a coward to change anything; too sick feeling sorry for himself to actually just bite the bullet and find a meaningful relationship with a guy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he was stuck in this room having an emotional romp with a fuck machine and taking his aggression out on it. He couldn’t bear to give it a name this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It disturbed Richie to listen to it cry -- it sounded much too real, and bending it over in a perfect L in front of the mirror was probably a mistake. The hands writhed and tried to cling to the smooth surface of the glass and it needed to lift up onto its tip-toes for Richie’s height, but whatever strength this thing had in it was starting to falter and slip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not able to take the whimpering anymore, Richie slapped his hand hard on the doll’s ass, leaving a large red mark. “Jesus, do you have an off button? You gotta stop with the noise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Daddy!” it cried, choking on its breath and trying to keep quiet. Still, little whines were eliciting from its throat and it was beginning to drive Richie crazy. He didn’t want to think of this as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>person,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and spending the last seven visits talking to it was regretful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, shit. C’mere.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie reached forward and grabbed its throat so he could drag it over to the bed and toss it over the mattress, propping the legs up so its knees were resting on the edge so Richie could get a better angle on its slight, short figure. Just as he grabbed its hair to press the face into the mattress, it spoke up again --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, wait -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>pumpernickel!”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie froze -- that was supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> safe word; the hell was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>robot</span>
  </em>
  <span> using it for?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lube,” it gasped. “Please -- just a little more -- it hurts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hurts?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Richie grimaced. “Do you -- do you have like -- a setting for that? Can I turn that off? Is that why you’re crying so much?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It let out a sob and Richie felt the sound resonating in his chest, loosening his grip on the hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, how do I get you to stop -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m having some serious psychological issues catching empathy for a doll, dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” it begged again, closing its eyes tight. “I won’t talk any more, I won’t make any noise, I just need a little more, please Richie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s stomach dropped. “What did you just call me? Hey!” he shouted when it didn’t answer, pushing it over onto its back and grabbing its neck. “Why the fuck did you call me that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s your name!” it cried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t tell you that this time!” He hit it hard in the face with a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“How the fuck do you remember that?” But Richie froze when he lifted his fist and saw a faint bruise beginning to form where his fist collided with the doll's face, a tiny cut bleeding from one of Richie’s rings. “What the fuck…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey fuckface!” Richie shouted, shoving Patrick’s shoulder roughly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lots of things,” Patrick replied casually. “If you’re looking for something particular, you need to give me more detail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That fucking -- ” Richie lowered his voice, despite no one being within fifty feet from them in the bar. “The fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dollhouse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What is the deal with that shit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Freaky, right?” Patrick grinned, taking a sip of his whiskey. “They do a good job keeping me out of trouble. The things I get away with in that place…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie had been haunted by the interaction he had with the doll since leaving that god-awful place two days ago. The look on Eddie's face --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, not Eddie. It couldn't really be Eddie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do they work?” Richie demanded. “What are the fucking mechanics of the -- dolls or whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck if I know. Maybe they just find corpses and fill their heads with cyborg shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie reeled back at the thought, scowling at Patrick. “You’d be chill fucking something like that? Someone that was once another person?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick only shrugged. “Who cares? Not like they remember anything, anyway.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Return</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oh hey, we're back.</p>
<p>this blew up a bit more than I anticipated! after some deliberating with myself over this short story, I went ahead and decided it needs at least 5 chapters, not 3. thank you all for your kudos, and please never hesitate to comment because I am an attention whore &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>***</b>
</p>
<p>“Hey, big guy. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>Richie stood up as his <em> doll </em> spoke to him for the ninth time, careful and slow. He reached forward and lined the smaller figure just under the brightest light in the room. Not saying a word yet, he lifted his hand and thumbed at the spot where his fist had collided the other day and noted the heavy cover-up there hiding a fading bruise on the skin.</p>
<p>“What can I -- ”</p>
<p>“Quiet for a minute,” Richie said gently. He lifted the right arm and traced his fingers down, twisting it around under the light so he could scan the surface of skin clearly, until -- “Holy shit…”</p>
<p>“Is something wrong?”</p>
<p>“Very…” Richie said in a shaky voice. His fingers grazed a long, faded scar on the forearm, slightly lighter in tone than the rest of the skin.</p>
<p>“Would you like for me to get someone for assistance?”</p>
<p>“No, Jesus,” Richie groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we just -- can you come with me onto the bed? I’m going to call you Eddie, ok?”</p>
<p>Just like many times before, a strange look flashed across Eddie’s face -- except Richie paid close enough attention this time, noting that this wasn’t just a vague expression. There were hints of fear and confusion and Richie was realizing it was becoming more prominent with each time Richie gave him this name.</p>
<p>“I can be Eddie -- ”</p>
<p>“Stop! None of that right now. Sit down on the edge here and lay back. Don’t say anything for a minute.”</p>
<p>Eddie complied and Richie did his best to ignore the coy smirk and <em> come hither </em> eyes Eddie was giving him as he delicately leaned back against the mattress with his elbows barely propping him up. Richie knelt down and kept his eyes determinedly away from the space between Eddie’s thighs, focusing instead on gently lifting his leg up to take a look under Eddie’s calf.</p>
<p>When Richie was twelve, he had kicked a soccer ball over his neighbors fence and teased Eddie into climbing over to retrieve it. He hadn’t actually expected Eddie to go through with it, laughing the entire time Eddie shimmied his tiny body up the poles and tried to swing his body over the posts. Neither of them had noticed Eddie’s shoe was untied, causing him to slip abruptly and his left calf to be stabbed by the fence post as he fell.</p>
<p>Richie held his breath as he inspected Eddie’s leg and -- </p>
<p>There it was, the tiny protruding scar left over from a young boy’s negligence. In the much better lighting of this new room he requested, Richie could see casual brushings of more cover-up, more bruises along Eddie’s thighs and hip bones that he hadn’t bothered to notice before; had never paid attention to.</p>
<p>“Shit,” Richie whispered, squeezing Eddie’s leg affectionately before standing up. Eddie was still smiling brightly at him where he laid, looking both expectant and slightly confused.</p>
<p>“Tell ya what,” Richie finally said after a moment of contemplation. “Why don’t we sit on the bed and talk?”</p>
<p>So they did and Richie carefully sat them down to face each other cross-legged, studying the face across from him intently. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about this and he didn’t want to do anything rash that would alert the staff before he thought of a plan to get Eddie out of here.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me a story?”</p>
<p>“What kind of story?” Eddie asked brightly.</p>
<p>“Make one up. Or tell me something from when you were a kid.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, propping his head on his hand and resting his elbow on his thigh. His eyes lit up as he went on cheerfully, “When I was in school, I used to make up all these different characters and voices on the playground because I didn’t have any friends. I’d practice them with my dad and he used to tell me they were brilliant, even when most of them were pretty shit until I got into college -- ”</p>
<p>“That’s <em> my </em> story, Eddie,” Richie told him, excitement building in his chest. “You remembered me telling you that. I used to play-act all my favorite movies by myself on the playground until second grade, when you came up to me at the monkey bars.”</p>
<p>Eddie’s smile faltered, confusion blanketing his face. “N-no. You never told me that. I’ve never met you.”</p>
<p>“Where’d you get that story then?”</p>
<p>“It’s -- it’s mine,” Eddie stammered. </p>
<p>“You don’t have a dad, Eddie,” Richie said firmly. “He died when you were five. Before you started school.”</p>
<p>A variety of emotions shifted on Eddie’s face -- possibly even panic, before he settled down and gave Richie that same, unsettling smile again. “Oh. I guess you’re right. Well, I never had a daddy growing up -- ”</p>
<p>“Nope!” Richie exclaimed, quickly slapping his hand over Eddie’s mouth, watching Eddie’s eyes widen. “We’re not doing that shit again!” He dropped his hand from Eddie’s face, now staring up at Richie with genuine fear. </p>
<p>“Is -- can -- is there anything you’d like to do?” Eddie stammered, looking as if his brain was glitching, trying to configure this new, absurd situation.</p>
<p>“Hey, take it easy,” Richie said as gently as he could, carefully resting his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. It didn’t look like it was any comfort; in fact, Eddie only stiffened under Richie’s touch. “We’re just going to talk, but I need you to not talk to me about -- about any of my kinks or whatever they have programmed in your head, ok?”</p>
<p>Eddie simply nodded, clearly at a loss for words. </p>
<p>“All right, so… let me think about this for a minute…”</p>
<p>“What should I call you?” Eddie asked. His tone was casual, flirty; but his face still screamed <em> terrified. </em></p>
<p>“Richie,” he replied absently.</p>
<p>“What -- what can I do for you Ri -- ” Eddie froze and hiccupped, his body sinking down limply onto the bed.</p>
<p>Richie quickly tried to catch him before he fell over and slid off, but Eddie was still trying to say something, still trying to choke out Richie’s name.</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s ok,” Richie assured him, not knowing what the fuck else to do. He carefully moved over and tried to pull Eddie into his lap, which was easy to do given how tiny he was, even with Eddie dead-weighting.</p>
<p>Small little sobs were still hiccupping out of him as Richie pressed Eddie’s head into his chest, cradling him like this for a few minutes. Memories were trying to register, but whatever shit they put in his head was fighting it off, trying to <em> wipe </em> the familiarity clear from his head. What the fuck is Richie supposed to do about this?</p>
<p>“Why don’t I tell <em> you </em> a story?” Richie offered, unable to stop himself from petting Eddie’s hair soothingly. It seemed to quiet him down a little bit. “You liked my stories before, right?” <em> He’s programmed to like whatever you say, dumbass. </em></p>
<p>“I’ve never heard your stories before,” Eddie sniffled. “But I’m sure they’re really great.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, ok,” Richie sighed. </p>
<p>Once again, Richie opened up, retelling his stories in the hopes of something sticking more and more. While it seemed to be working, it came with the price of Eddie becoming more and more upset as Richie slowly triggered the memories hiding somewhere in the recesses of Eddie’s mind. Worried that Eddie might go running off, Richie kept his arms around him as tight as he could without physically hurting him.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry I hit you,” Richie confessed. “I feel like a fucking idiot… These fucking <em> toys </em> they have look so goddamn real, and I had never actually been up close to one before. So when I saw you, I just… I couldn’t see you as a…” <em> Person. </em></p>
<p>Eddie was still wordlessly sobbing quietly in his lap, likely leaving wet patches all over Richie’s shirt. Not that Richie minded, but he was worried now about anything looking suspicious. </p>
<p>“They’re going to wipe you again,” Richie continued quietly, speaking into Eddie’s hair. “So I just need you to hang on just a little longer while I figure out a plan, ok? You can’t say anything about recognizing me or this isn’t going to work. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>He felt Eddie nod, but he wasn’t sure exactly what Eddie was processing right now. It was almost time for his hour to end, so Richie carefully got himself up and laid Eddie prone in the bed. His small body was shaking slightly, face swollen and red from all of his crying. Richie would just tell them that’s what he wanted his <em> doll </em> to do and they’d let it slide, just like the last time. Thinking about how often this <em> did </em> happen to Eddie, how many times he was left in one of these rooms crying over what someone did to him was making Richie sick.</p>
<p>And Richie had been one of the sick fucks that did it to him.</p>
<p>He had to get the hell out of here before he lost his mind; if he did something stupid now, he’d fuck this up for good and he didn’t want to think about what would happen then.</p>
<p>“I’ll be back for you, ok?” Richie said quietly. His hand went to brush Eddie’s hair back, but Eddie flinched away from his touch. Understandable, given the circumstances of Richie’s last visit; the memories were fresh now, cycling back in Eddie’s head. </p>
<p>Leaving him like that physically <em> hurt, </em> so Richie just had to keep reminding himself he’d be back. Going down the hall did not help, each passing door a gentle reminder that there were more <em> people </em> behind those doors, all getting violated by other people, who may or may not have been as clueless as Richie was. Some of them probably didn’t care. People like Patrick sure didn’t. The people who <em> ran </em> this place sure didn’t. </p>
<p>Had Richie not just happened to find a doll whom he <em> knew, </em>then… would Richie had even noticed?</p>
<p>Before Richie could dwell on that thought too long, he collided with another body that was abruptly exiting another room. He stepped back and opened his mouth to apologize, when --</p>
<p>“Tozier!” Patrick exclaimed, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Back again?”</p>
<p>Just before the door shut completely, Richie craned his head to see if he could see into Patrick’s room, but was only able to see indistinguishable limbs hanging off the side of a bed.</p>
<p>“Talking to you the other day got me thinking about this place again,” Patrick chuckled. </p>
<p>“Of course it did,” Richie muttered, his stomach churning unpleasantly. His eyes darted down to a bag Patrick had slung on his shoulders. “What is that?”</p>
<p>“Some toys from home.”</p>
<p>Richie felt a visceral reaction from that, grimacing as he looked back up at Patrick. “They have things in the room.”</p>
<p>“Nothing like my stuff,” Patrick grinned. “You gotta get it approved at the front desk, but as long as nothing damages them beyond repair, they don’t really mind. They said they usually change out the models after a few months, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Th-- <em> hrrgh.” </em> Richie could not even begin his sentence before having to shove Patrick aside, pushing past his nausea until he had to hurl on the sidewalk outside. <em> Sick. Fucking sick. </em></p>
<p>Richie had to come back. There was no time to waste, thinking about how much longer Eddie had left before someone used him up <em> beyond repair. </em> That couldn’t happen. Richie wouldn’t let that happen. And as agonizing as it was to see Patrick in that hallway -- it had given Richie an idea.</p>
<p>
  <b>***</b>
</p>
<p>“Hey, big guy. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Steve,” Richie said as pleasantly as he could. There was a strange sort of relief in Eddie’s face, as if he had anticipated something different. That was a good sign. </p>
<p>“Mmm, Steve,” Eddie said, gently sliding into Richie’s lap and straddling him much like he had done the first time Richie came in here. “What can I do for you, Steve? You brought something for us to play with?”</p>
<p>His eyes darted to the large duffle bag that sat next to Richie on the bed. There was a hesitation to his voice now, despite his best effort in keeping up the coy, flirtatious act. Richie was too familiar to him now, and it was more noticeable every minute.</p>
<p>“It’s actually some<em> one </em> we’re going to play with,” Richie said, doing his best to sound equally enthused. “Would you like to meet her?”</p>
<p>Eddie nodded shyly while Richie leaned over and unzipped the bag for Eddie to take a peak. Inside was a life-size doll -- a <em> real </em> doll, one which Richie had one-day shipped to his apartment and inspected with extreme meticulousness. To his relief, it’s insides were a soft plastic and silicon mechanism, even if it really looked and <em> felt </em> like a real person. It made the Dollhouse seem less suspicious to casual patrons, who had likely been familiar with these types of <em> toys </em> before. </p>
<p>“Can you do me a small favor, though?” Richie asked. </p>
<p>“Anything you want, Steve,” Eddie replied almost bashfully.</p>
<p>“Can you take this for me?” </p>
<p>Richie took a small pill from his shirt pocket and held it out in his hand. He was about to go into an explanation he had made up on his way over here, but Eddie did not hesitate to reach out and take the small pill from his hand. He did so slowly, sticking his little pink tongue out teasingly and dropping the rohypnol delicately on the tip before curling it back in and dry-swallowing it. If anything, Eddie probably <em> wanted </em> to be drugged up for whatever they were going to do in this room -- even if it was subconsciously. </p>
<p>“Good boy,” Richie said encouragingly. “It’ll just be a few minutes and then we can take her out.”</p>
<p>“What are we going to do with her?”</p>
<p>“Be patient; don’t worry about it for now, Eds.”</p>
<p>Eddie shot out of Richie’s lap as if he were electrocuted, stepping away until his back hit the opposite wall. His small chest began to heave as he panicked, staring back at Richie with wide, tearful eyes.</p>
<p>“Shitshitshit,” Richie muttered, getting up and trying to approach Eddie slowly.<em> Why did you call him that, dumbass? </em> “Hey, E-- buddy, it’s ok!”</p>
<p>But Eddie just shook his head, a tear flicking away from his face as he did so. He opened his mouth and sobbed. “I want another name,” he cried softly.</p>
<p>“Shit, ok, that’s fine!” Richie told him, trying to appease him until he could get him out. “What name do you want? How’s uh… Dave? You like Dave?”</p>
<p>“I -- I -- I can be Dave for you, baby,” Eddie stammered, his alluring energy completely gone as he stood there shaking and staring at the floor.</p>
<p>“Great,” Richie croaked. </p>
<p>Now he just had to keep <em> Dave </em> calm until he fell asleep. He managed to coax Eddie back towards the bed, petting through his hair until his eyes began to flutter and his body slipped out of Richie’s light grip and collapsed onto the mattress. Richie checked to make sure he was breathing and didn’t have a damn heart attack before proceeding with the plan. All he had to do was figure out where to hide the damn doll so he could shove Eddie in his bag. </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Rescue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I may or may not be drunk rn ❤️<br/>But there’s no reason to wait, right? Happy Crisis 🎄 </p><p>Thank you all for your support and thoughts; leave more down below ❤️ Hope you’re all surviving this holiday season</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p><br/>There’s a slimy feeling coursing through Richie’s veins as he’s shoving his single-day purchased sex doll under the bed frame of his rented room. Knowing what he knows about what’s going on around him, feeling what feels like a real person in his grip is making him sick. The lonely, depraved part of his brain is reminding him of the kinds of things he was planning on doing to Eddie, but he is actively trying to suppress those thoughts.</p><p>Because he needs to remind himself he <em> wouldn’t </em>have. Won’t, now that he knows. He’s not a bad person. And he’s hoping he can prove that more once he’s out of this place for good.</p><p>The front door would be too obvious: they’d see him and think he ended his hour early and go to clean up the room, where they’d find <em> no </em> Eddie and eventually figure out Richie’s bait-and-switch with the actual doll he brought. This meant he would have to sneak out the back <em> somehow, </em> and maybe he could get away with that; really, he <em> had </em>to. </p><p>Eddie was lighter to carry than the doll itself, but Richie slung the bag carefully over his shoulder knowing how precious the cargo was. Zipping the bag up over his unconscious face took Richie a full five extra minutes to psych himself up for. Now that Eddie was snug in there and hopefully <em> safe, </em>Richie only had to worry about the kidnapping.</p><p>But is it really kidnapping if it’s a rescue? Eddie doesn’t know the difference right now anyway, so Richie will have to make sure not to wake him up in the process.</p><p>The door Eddie had come through was unlocked and showed Richie into what resembled the back of a theater stage. A single red <em> EXIT </em> sign could be seen from down another hallway back here, so Richie carefully shut the door behind him and tiptoed out like a silent film cat burglar with his loot swung over his shoulder. It was almost too easy, and Richie began to pick up the pace as he spotted a back door he could leave through until someone came out of a side door. Richie froze, but the man just simply sighed in an exasperated fashion and sauntered over to where Richie stood.</p><p>“This is the second one today, Christ,” he grumbled, eyes directly staring at the bag in Richie’s hands. “We need to make some stricter policies with the customers. Which one was it?”</p><p>Richie gulped and opened his mouth, but the man simply leaned over to unzip the end of the bag, right where Eddie’s head was resting. Richie prayed to whatever the fuck kind of god was out there that he wouldn’t notice Eddie breathing as the man stared down and shook his head.</p><p>“Damn shame; he was a real earner. Whoever gave him the blond really upped his requests, too. But, he’s had a good few months; they all gotta go sometime, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess,” Richie mumbled, unsure of what else to say that wouldn’t get him in trouble. </p><p>“Hey, if you get a chance, we got another one in this back room,” the man said, jabbing his thumb behind him towards the room he had just left. “Toss him and get in there quickly, will ya?”</p><p>Richie gripped his bag tighter, feeling the sweat built up in his palms. “Shuh-sure thing. Will — will get right on it.”</p><p>Nothing had ever been as relieving as the cold air that brushed Richie’s cheeks as he bolted out the door. He immediately pulled out his phone to find an Uber, walking as fast as he could to distance himself from the monstrous building behind him. He was trying not to think about dead bodies in bags, which was all the more difficult when he was carrying a body himself. He was just thankful Eddie was carried out of this place with the hope of waking up.</p><p>Richie insisted that he didn’t need his bag in the trunk, not wanting to let Eddie to be sliding around and hurt something or wake up. His body was stirring slightly under Richie’s grip and Richie was silently glad that the driver paid no attention to him until it came time to get out.</p><p>One small problem was that as popular as Richie was starting to become in smaller circles, he still wasn’t making a lot of money in comedy. He probably could afford a bigger place, but it would come at the risk of sliding back into obscurity and having difficulty maintaining something more than his shitty little studio. There wasn’t much room in this place and certainly no room for privacy except for the bathroom. For now, he laid the bag down on his bed and rushed to get Eddie out and make sure he was breathing ok. </p><p>Once Richie checked to confirm Eddie hadn’t suffocated, he carefully lifted his small body out and laid his head gently onto the pillow and pulled the comforter over him. </p><p>Now what the fuck does he do?</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>“You better have a good reason — Richie, <em> what the fuck?” </em>Stan exclaimed as Richie yanked him into the apartment. “What is this Scooby-Doo mystery bullshit? It’s two in the goddamn morning.”</p><p>“Can you be quiet for a goddamn second!” Richie hushed, closing and locking the door. “Keep your voice down!”</p><p>“This better not be a booty call,” Stan sighed. “Last time you faked a concussion to get me over here for a goddamn <em> blowjob </em> — Oh. You already have someone here to do that for you.”</p><p>Richie sighed and leaned back against his kitchen counters just by his front door. “Dude, I need a little sincerity from you right now. Do you remember anyone from our high school?”</p><p>“Only pieces of shit that made my life miserable,” Stan replied, still staring at the small lump of a person on Richie’s bed. “And I’m including you in that group, by the way.”</p><p>“What about Eddie Kaspbrak?”</p><p>“I swear to god, did you fucking call me here to show me you got laid by your high school crush?”</p><p>“No, dipshit. What do you know about Dollhouses?”</p><p>Stan blinked a few times and looked up at Richie in confusion. “Come again?”</p><p>“The sex toy places,” Richie clarified. “Have you heard about them?”</p><p>Looking confused as all hell, Stan cocked an eyebrow at him. “Did you… steal a sex doll from an artificial whorehouse?”</p><p>As Richie explained in somewhat <em> less </em> detail what had happened, Stan’s face slowly transformed from quizzical to horrified. He gently pat Richie on the shoulder and slowly began to approach the still-sleeping Eddie on the bed with his EMT bag.</p><p>“How long has he been out?”</p><p>“A few hours…” Richie said slowly. “Here, maybe I should wake him up and not another random person.”</p><p>While Stan pulled out a stethoscope and his badge to make himself look less threatening, Richie gingerly lifted the bit of blanket covering Eddie’s head. He was still out like a light, mouth slightly agape and drooling on Richie’s pillow. Richie felt guilty disturbing his rest, but he didn’t want to risk Eddie waking up in the middle of the night without some kind of medical intervention. </p><p>“How should I get him up?”</p><p>“You might need this,” Stan said, handing over a tiny styrofoam cap. “Since you gave him something. Just pop it and let him breathe it in.”</p><p>Richie stuck his thumb into the cap until it popped and a wet substance splattered out. He quickly held his breath before the sharp scent could hit him and shoved it under Eddie’s nose. Eddie’s nostrils flared and twitched before his body jerked violently, his eyes opening wide as he shot up in the bed with a yelp.</p><p>“Shh, hey, it’s ok,” Richie whispered right away, reaching forward to make sure Eddie did not throw himself off the bed. He was reminded of a time when he was little when he and his father had tried to trap and calm a feral cat. Just like then, Richie tried to be delicate and not hurt the small body in his arms that was frantically breathing with big heavy gulps of air. “Take it easy so we can make sure you’re ok.”</p><p>As if someone had pressed a trigger on him, Eddie went limp against Richie’s chest. He pulled away to sit Eddie up straight and saw that Eddie was still awake and still petrified. His eyes were wide as saucers and lips parted as he let out quick, shallow breaths. Though greatly concerned by this, it did make it easier for Stan to take a look at him. Richie ended up crawling onto the bed to make sure Eddie was supported while Stan checked his blood pressure with the cloth cuff. </p><p>“Follow this with your eyes,” Stan instructed, carefully watching Eddie’s face while moving around a pen.</p><p>“The fuck you looking for?” Richie asked with impatience. His tone made Eddie tense up and Stan shot him a frustrated look.</p><p>“I’ve never had to deal with the subtleties of <em> brainwashing, </em>Richie,” Stan sighed. “I’m just looking for anything that might be wrong to give us any clues about what they did to him.”</p><p>Richie felt worse by the second for snapping, because Eddie was trembling now despite his ability to follow Stanley’s exam. He gently rubbed Eddie’s arm anywhere the sleeves were covering, feeling indecent touching the skin, even anywhere as innocent as Eddie’s forearm. He craned his head and watched curiously as Stan held his hand straight with the side of his pinky aligned with Eddie’s nose, moving his flashlight back and forth to look at Eddie’s eyes separately. </p><p>“His consensual reaction isn’t intact…” Stan muttered.</p><p>“I don’t think any of his behaviors have been consensual, Stan,” Richie huffed.</p><p>“I’m talking about his pupil reflex, dick.”</p><p>“Ok, and…?”</p><p>“It could mean a couple things,” Stan mused worriedly. “It could be the ocular nerves or a brain stem issue. They could be giving him barbiturates unless there’s a physical issue…”</p><p>Stan reached back to the base of Eddie’s head, but Eddie suddenly reacted and threw his fist up into Stan’s throat. Richie could hear the air knocked out of Stan as he reeled back from Eddie, who was now kicking and punching at Stan until Richie grabbed him around the middle.</p><p>“Fucking shit,” Stan croaked, clutching his throat. “That was probably my fault.”</p><p><em> “Get off me!” </em>Eddie grunted. Richie immediately let go, causing Eddie to fling forward until he hit the wall beside Stan, slinking down to his knees and turning around in a defensive position on the floor. His chest heaved frantically as his hands pressed flat against the wall behind him. </p><p>Richie was thinking about the cat again.</p><p>“You’ve gotta take him to the hospital,” Stanley said, his voice still hoarse. </p><p>“I know I should,” Richie said ruefully. “I just… don’t want to leave him alone somewhere. God knows what they’re going to ask him or… do to him.”</p><p><em> “Do </em>to him?”</p><p>“Dude, <em> I don’t know!” </em> Richie hissed at him. “I don’t know what kind of legal bullshit I’m going to deal with, ok? I just want to make sure he’s ok before I get tied up in some bullshit with the police.”</p><p>Stan let out a long sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t have to say anything; Richie could tell Stan <em> knew </em> there was something beyond the simple act of just rescuing someone from a terrible situation. There were unresolved issues that Stan damn well knew were still buried here.</p><p>Meanwhile, as Richie wallowed in self-pity and Stan tried to figure out a plan, Eddie sank further toward the ground and leaned into the corner of the wall. His eyes welled up and his body curled into itself as he began to sob quietly on the floor. Every upsetting noise he made stirred something protective in Richie, but he gripped his own jeans tightly to steady himself, knowing that running towards Eddie would be unwise right now.</p><p>“I want to go home,” Eddie cried softly, his cheeks glistening wet.</p><p>“Where do you live?” Stan asked him quietly.</p><p>Eddie sniffled, leaning his temple against the wall as his hands tried to grip the flat surface. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Oh — okay.” Stan looked up at Richie with concern, looking as if he wished Richie had called literally anyone else for this crisis. </p><p><em> Now </em> what the fuck does he do?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Wake-Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My sincerest apologies in advance over the fact that I’ve written and posted everything from my phone since Wednesday. I don’t have a beta for this y’all ✌️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p>“Thanks for coming over,” Richie whispered to Stan, keeping his gaze over at the small man tucked into the corner of his apartment.</p>
<p>“I still think you should take him to a hospital,” Stan sighed. </p>
<p>“I will if he wants me to,” Richie told him. “I promise I’ll ask,” he added when Stan narrowed his eyes. “I just don’t want to <em> force </em> him to do anything.” <em> Even if that means not forcing him to stay here with me. </em></p>
<p>“Fair enough. I’ll... try and see if we can think of something. Just give me a call if anything changes, ok?”</p>
<p>“I will. Thanks again.”</p>
<p>In Stanley’s absence, Richie could hear the quiet little sobs coming from Eddie in the corner. He made his way back to the bed, keeping a safe distance from Eddie still. Eddie’s body looked more relaxed, but his eyes were fixated to a spot on the floor.</p>
<p>“Can I take you to the hospital?”</p>
<p>To his surprise, Eddie shook his head, eyes unmoving. Richie sighed and slid off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. He hoped this helped him appear less threatening, even if he probably seemed massive near Eddie. Richie tried making small talk; he didn’t expect Eddie to answer, of course. He just hoped that he could fill Eddie’s head with more pleasant things than he was likely ruminating over. At least he could try to make Eddie comfortable.</p>
<p>When Eddie spoke, it was nearly inaudible, but Richie snapped his mouth shut once he saw Eddie’s lips move.</p>
<p>“How many times did you buy me?”</p>
<p>The question wasn’t unwarranted, but Richie shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “I, uh… I talked to you seven times before I realized you were… real.”</p>
<p>“Talked?” Eddie repeated, his eyebrows knitting together.</p>
<p>Richie wanted to turn away in shame, but he was terrified of looking away. “Well, I… we did <em> talk, </em> mostly.”</p>
<p>“Mostly,” Eddie repeated again.</p>
<p>“I — ok.” Richie took a deep breath and braced himself for the upcoming conversation. “I still thought you were a doll all that time, so I — I had — I had sex with you before I finally realized — and then I <em> never </em> did it again. I swear. Once I knew better I tried to get you out.”</p>
<p>“You called me Eddie every time,” Eddie said quietly, his tone flat.</p>
<p>“I know,” Richie groaned. “I know I did. I thought it was just a coincidence because — because I asked for a doll that <em> looked </em> like you. I just thought they did a really fucking good job, man, I — I’m sorry. Really, Eddie, I am so so sorry. But I’m here to help you now, ok?”</p>
<p>There was no response for a moment; Eddie didn’t even move, only continuing to stare down at the floor. Richie bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself from rambling, hoping that what Eddie said next would help him figure out the next step in this plan.</p>
<p>“I have to pee.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Uh, there’s… the bathroom is just here,” Richie said, pointing behind him to the other side of the bed. He stood when Eddie stood, watching Eddie’s gait carefully in case he needed assistance walking. “Here, let me just…” Richie crowded into the small bathroom beside Eddie to open up the cabinet above the sink. “You can take anything from here if you need it — extra toothbrush or whatever. Most of the stuff under the sink is for cleaning, so. Anything useful will be up in here.”</p>
<p>Eddie reached forward and grabbed a pair of scissors Richie had used to fix frayed hairs between haircuts. He watched Eddie cautiously as Eddie looked up into the mirror, tugging on the ends of the bleached strands. Without a word, Eddie quickly snipped off the end of his hair in his grip and began hacking at his head with the scissors.</p>
<p>“Hey, easy!” Richie exclaimed, grabbing Eddie’s wrist to stop him. “You’re gonna hurt yourself!” </p>
<p>“Let go!” Eddie growled, pushing his arm back towards Richie and sticking the end of the scissors into the soft spot under Richie’s clavicle.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” Richie gasped, releasing his grip from Eddie and stepping back until his back hit the near wall. As he carefully pulled the blade out with a hiss, Eddie bolted out of the bathroom. The metal fell into the sink with a clatter, splattering Richie’s blood on the porcelain. He had figured this would be difficult, but <em> Christ. </em></p>
<p>The cabinets in Richie’s kitchen sounded like they were all being open and slammed shut before he heard water running. He pressed a washcloth against his chest to staunch the blood and went back out into the common area. Eddie was leaning back against the counter and chugging water frantically in huge gulps. Once his glass was empty, he filled the cup again and kept drinking.</p>
<p>“Dude, slow down!” </p>
<p>Richie barely registered the scowl on Eddie’s face before he threw the remaining water in his glass at Richie’s face, soaking his head.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me what to fucking do,” Eddie snapped. “Your hour’s been up.”</p>
<p>Richie’s stomach dropped; he had no retort for that. Instead, he just watched Eddie get himself more water and drink another glass. He had no idea how else to convey he was trying to <em> help, </em> but he knew it was selfish of him to expect Eddie to <em> act </em>grateful or submissive to Richie’s suggestions. He wasn’t sure how much Eddie was able to recollect from their time together — during the Dollhouse hours or otherwise. But whatever was resurfacing from these last few months was understandably enraging him.</p>
<p>“So, I’m gonna sleep on the couch,” Richie said quietly, drying his glasses with his shirt. “You can have the bed. Unless you want to leave, but I just… just let me know if you go anywhere, please? Not so I can stop you!” he quickly clarified when it looked like Eddie was going to throw the whole cup at Richie’s head. “Just so I don’t worry that someone kidnapped you, ok?”</p>
<p>“And what exactly are you doing?” Eddie sneered.</p>
<p>“I have no fucking idea!” Richie laughed humorlessly, tossing his hands up in surrender. “Dude, I’m just — I just wanted to get you out, I don’t know what the fuck to do now!”</p>
<p>Richie shoved his hands under his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. The second his vision was obstructed he heard Eddie scamper off and the springs of Richie’s mattress creaked. Richie sighed and turned to look at Eddie balled up on the bed again, knees up to his chest as he stared down at his feet. Richie allowed himself to saunter over to the couch kicking his feet up to face his bed. As little space as his studio left for them, at least he could keep an eye on Eddie for the time being.</p>
<p>“Is there anything I can do?” Richie asked as gently as he could. “Before we go to sleep? Or something you want to do in the morning?”</p>
<p>Silence. Eddie was back to that blank stare again. As Richie watched him, he noticed the slight tremble on Eddie’s hands which clung tightly around his shins. </p>
<p>“I’m gonna go to sleep,” Richie said after a few minutes. “You can leave the light on or turn it off if you need to. Whatever is in the fridge is all yours. You can also, uh… wake me up if you need anything, ok?”</p>
<p>When he realized Eddie would likely not be responding — or if he would, it may have led to another freak out — Richie rolled over to his side and tried to close his eyes. His mind seemed too anxious to comprehend sleep any time soon, but eventually his exhaustion finally took him, even with that one lingering question in his mind.</p>
<p>What the fuck does he do?</p>
<p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p>“I think my mom died.”</p>
<p>This was what Richie woke up to; as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw Eddie curled up on the floor, leaning his head against the side of the couch. When Eddie heard Richie stir, he tilted his head to look up at Richie with those damning big, puppy dog eyes. It looked like he had taken it upon himself to cut the rest of his hair short while Richie slept, chopping all the blond away that Richie had been at fault of putting there in the first place. </p>
<p>“I was looking on your computer,” Eddie continued. “My mom died a month ago, I think.”</p>
<p>“Oh… oh shit,” Richie said, trying to wake up as he stretched his limbs out. </p>
<p>“It’s ok,” Eddie said, looking as if he meant it; his demeanor had completely changed since they had gone to bed. “I hadn’t seen her for like a year, anyway.”</p>
<p>“What happened?” Richie asked gently.</p>
<p>“I was cheating on my fiancé, Myra,” Eddie told him. “With a coworker.”</p>
<p>“Your mom liked her I guess?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, a lot. She also wasn’t a fan that I spent my time away from Myra getting dicked over the hood of a car in my garage.”</p>
<p>“Oh… <em> oh. </em> So you’re…?”</p>
<p>Eddie nodded, shifting so that his cheek rested against the end of the couch cushion, squishing the side of his face. “Does it make it easier knowing that? After what you did?”</p>
<p>”No,” Richie said truthfully. “That doesn’t make anything ok about what I did.”</p>
<p>Eddie still did not look angry or upset as he continued to talk. ”I was having a lot of problems. The owner of my car shop laid a bunch of us off because of all this… <em> smart </em> technology on the roads. We weren’t really built for it. I could fix anything you brought it with no problem, but no one <em>wanted </em>to bring their <em> Tesla </em> to a chop shop like that.”</p>
<p>Despite the devastation of the situation, Richie couldn’t help but smile just a little bit, thinking about Eddie as a little mechanic. When they were little, it was always soapbox racers and model cars; he managed to do something pretty decent with it as an adult. Until…</p>
<p>“I got into an accident after the Myra situation,” Eddie went on. “Drunk driving like an asshole. I didn’t hurt anyone else, at least. Long story short… broken bones, surgery, pills… a <em> lot </em> of pills…”</p>
<p>“Not so different from what I could remember,” Richie murmured sadly.</p>
<p>“Those were nothing. These stupid pain pills they give you, even when you don’t <em> ask </em> for them… you take them to help and then you keep <em> needing </em> them…” He sighed as he started poking at a small hole in the couch cushion. “So a few months go by without having a job, and I couldn’t live with my mom after I lost my place, so… I started living with a… <em> friend… </em>the guy I was getting my pills from.”</p>
<p>“You weren’t getting them from a doctor?”</p>
<p>“Not six months after surgery, no… but he would… <em> expect </em>things for the pills, you know?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I can… guess,” Richie nodded.</p>
<p>“It’s amazing how fast it all went downhill…” Eddie mused. “Like, almost married and working a steady job, and then… I’m pretty sure he started giving me other stuff to keep me around. I was terrified to leave if it meant I couldn't get more drugs, so it was just this vicious cycle of whoring myself out to this guy so I had a place to stay.”</p>
<p>“So how’d you end up…?” Richie asked slowly, hoping he wasn’t pushing it when Eddie was opening up so much.</p>
<p>“I can’t remember,” Eddie admitted softly. “All the stuff between is so fuzzy.” He looked back up at Richie. “Why did you buy me so many times?”</p>
<p>God, he <em> hated </em>that Eddie phrased it like that, but it was the awful truth. He couldn’t break his eyes away from Eddie’s gaze, looking down at him shamefully.</p>
<p>“I didn’t… <em> know, </em>Eddie…”</p>
<p>“You gave me my real name,” Eddie reminded him. </p>
<p>“Because I thought — I just thought you <em> looked </em>like… Eddie,” Richie explained stupidly.</p>
<p>“So you gave a doll my name?”</p>
<p>“Eds, please…”</p>
<p>“I gave you <em> how </em> many hours?” Eddie pressed. “You can’t even fucking answer me?”</p>
<p>Richie rolled onto his back and groaned. “Ok, ok… look, I… I used to have a crush on you when we were younger. I guess — I guess when I was <em> making </em> the doll, I just kept thinking about you because — because all my closeted relationships have been shit, and you were the last guy I could remember who made me happy. My <em> gay awakening </em> or whatever you wanna call it. And I’m <em> sorry, </em> I really fucking am, Eds. I’m sorry I was too stupid to realize what was happening. I’m sorry I took advantage of you and that I <em> hurt </em>you — ” </p>
<p>Richie startled when he felt something on his chest and realized Eddie had placed his hand there. Somehow, it made Richie feel <em> worse, </em>Eddie looking at him with pity. Richie had to look away again before that look killed him, staring up again at the ceiling.</p>
<p>“I’ve been with… so many people at that place,” Eddie whispered; his voice was broken, sounding as if he was trying not to cry. “Some of them only wanted to talk. Sometimes. But they’d never keep coming back. Not unless there were other things they liked me to do. There were... a lot of things they liked to make me do...”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Richie said again, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.</p>
<p>“It <em> hurts. </em> Trying to remember everything. All of it feels like skimming through tv static with a broken remote and I can’t fucking stop it and I feel so sick about most of them… it fucking <em> hurts.” </em>The crack in his voice forced Richie to look back at him, tearing his own heart in two to see Eddie’s face in such anguish. “It would always be there, you know, just… like watching myself through a window and not being able to stop what I said or did or — or what was done to me. I just want them to flush it all out again, but the longer I’m awake the more keeps coming back…”</p>
<p>“Eddie…”</p>
<p>“Thank you for getting me out,” Eddie sniffled, pressing his face into Richie’s chest where he was leaning over him on the couch. “But I don’t want to be awake anymore.”</p>
<p>Without a response for that, Richie instinctively wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. His fingers itched to get to his phone and demand Stan come back over to help. He wanted to pick more at Eddie’s brain and figure out what all they had <em> done </em>to him and how he could make sure it never happened again. For now though, the least Richie could do was give Eddie back all the hours he had taken from him. </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Safeword</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hyd?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>***</b>
</p>
<p>Texting Stan seemed like the only option Richie had, since Eddie refused to go to a hospital. He was (understandably) terrified of being on display as some sort of science experiment gone wrong. Another concern Eddie had confessed was a fear of being arrested for prostitution if his side was not taken seriously. </p>
<p>Richie had only been able to take note of the barcode tattooed to Eddie’s wrist and how Eddie would keep cracking his neck, rubbing alongside the base of his head. It was exactly where Stan made the mistake of touching when Eddie had attacked him. Unfortunately, they would have to wait for Stan to get off of work, giving them all day to contemplate and — hopefully — for Eddie to start calming down.. </p>
<p>When Richie was attempting to make Eddie a nice, hearty meal, he quickly had to turn off the stove midway through. Just as he thought, Eddie had started sobbing loudly in the shower. The sound disturbed him too much to leave be, so he grabbed an extra towel from the top of his dresser and gently knocked on the bathroom door.</p>
<p>“Eddie? Can I come in? I promise I won’t look, I just --”</p>
<p>The water turned off abruptly. The silence that followed was eerie, but Richie soon heard Eddie stepping out of the tub, so he backed away to give Eddie his space. Not even halfway back to the kitchen, the door was swung open behind Richie. He turned and saw Eddie standing wobbly on his feet, leaning against the doorframe unsteadily, naked and skin burning red hot.</p>
<p>“Shit,” Richie mumbled, grabbing the towel again and moving to cover Eddie with it. “Let’s get you to the bed.”</p>
<p>Eddie was panting and looked up at him with dazed, half-lidded eyes. “Hey, big guy,” he mumbled.</p>
<p>“Fuck, ok, c’mere,” Richie muttered, quickly wrapping the towel as delicately as he could and letting Eddie fall into his arms. He basically had to drag Eddie to the bed, his limbs all limp at his sides. His skin was <em> burning, </em> and Richie could feel the steam coming out of the bathroom still; Eddie must’ve had the water on far too hot and triggered this weird dissociative state.</p>
<p>Once Eddie was prone on the bed, Richie quickly ran back to his freezer -- there was nothing but frozen pizza and steaks, so he grabbed a box of DiGiorno. He brought it back over and laid it flat on Eddie’s chest, hoping his heart would pump the coolness to his limbs quickly to stop this fever-like state. Eddie shivered against the touch, but wrapped his arms around the cardboard box immediately. </p>
<p>“Are you with me, Eddie?” Richie asked, snapping his fingers near Eddie’s face as he sat beside Eddie on the bed.</p>
<p>Eddie closed his eyes tightly, squeezing the pizza box and crushing the edges into the bends of his elbows. “Kaleidoscope.”</p>
<p>“Wh— what?”</p>
<p>Richie stared while Eddie mumbled other nonsensical words like <em> Canterbury </em> and <em> refrigerator. </em>Not knowing what else to do, Richie frantically started texting Stan again, despite knowing Stan wouldn’t be able to answer for many, many hours. Then —</p>
<p>“Spaghetti. <em> Spaghetti!” </em> Eddie shouted, sitting straight up with wide eyes. “Eddie Spaghetti!”</p>
<p>“Whoa, Jesus, it’s ok!” Richie told him, watching helplessly as Eddie just fell back down onto the mattress. </p>
<p>“Stop,” Eddie whimpered. “I just want it to stop.”</p>
<p>“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie said pleadingly. He tentatively reached over and placed his hand on Eddie’s forehead. “I don’t know what to do, just — just stay with me, ok? You remember who you are?”</p>
<p>“Eddie,” Eddie sniffled. </p>
<p>When he started to shiver, Richie took the frozen pizza box away and tossed it away. He pulled the end of the comforter from the back of the bed and gently draped it over Eddie.</p>
<p>“That’s good, Eds. You remember who I am?”</p>
<p>Eddie turned his head and tore Richie’s heart in two with the frightened look in his eyes. “Richie.”</p>
<p>“Good job,” he replied encouragingly. “Why’d you run the water so hot?”</p>
<p>“I just -- I just wanted to burn it out of my head.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’re gonna take it easy, ok? I’m going to finish making you breakfast, so just gimme a minute —”</p>
<p>“Don’t leave!” Eddie cried, flinging himself over into Richie’s lap. “Don’t leave me alone.”</p>
<p>“Shit, Eddie it’s ok! It’s just ten feet over there…” But Eddie only whimpered in response, his head buried in Richie’s lap with his arms over his head, as if he was shielding himself from something. “C’mon, man, you gotta eat… Were they even feeding you properly?”</p>
<p>Without answering, Eddie just let out a groan. Richie sighed and decided that the half-cooked eggs and his pancake mix would just have to go to waste. Instead, he attempted to get up, only to have Eddie cling onto him like a koala. Once he allowed Eddie to comfortably hang onto him, he just made some waffles in the toaster.</p>
<p>“Stan will be back soon, hopefully tomorrow,” Richie assured Eddie, carefully helping him settle down onto the bed again so he could nibble on his plain waffle. Somehow, the towel was still secure to his waist, and Richie watched while Eddie absently dropped crumbs into his lap. “You remember Stan, from high school?”</p>
<p>Eddie’s brow furrowed, but he smiled brightly after only a moment. “Stan the Man. Stan Uris.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s right!” Richie said, smiling in return. “He came over to check on you last night. He’s going to help us out later if you’re ok with that?”</p>
<p>Eddie shoveled the last of his waffles into his mouth and thought on this as he chewed slowly. “How?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure,” Richie admitted. “But… we just want to make sure that you get healthy and you can get to a safe place.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have any safe places,” Eddie said quietly.</p>
<p>“Well then, you can stay here until you do. Or with Stan, if you want; his place is much nicer. It’s only a one-bedroom, but he has a pull-out. In the meantime, uh… I’m not really sure what you want to do.”</p>
<p>“Can I get dressed?” Eddie asked hesitantly, as if Richie wouldn’t allow such a thing. </p>
<p>“Of course you can, shit Eds,” Richie sighed. He went into the bathroom to fetch the clean clothes he had given Eddie before. After he handed them over, he let Eddie change as he cleaned up the kitchen and his mess of a breakfast attempt from this morning. </p>
<p>“Are you going to tell anyone about the Dollhouse?”</p>
<p>Richie startled a little, not realizing how close Eddie was standing behind him. He turned around and took note of how big his clothes were on Eddie -- the shorts coming down way past the knee, hoodie sleeves dangling many inches from Eddie’s hands. It could have been a cute moment if everything else wasn’t so damn tragic. Richie turned and leaned back against his kitchen counter, folding his arms.</p>
<p>“I don’t want that place staying open,” Richie said. “I have no fucking idea how to, like… deal with it. Police would need a warrant and how exactly do they <em> inspect </em> something like that?”</p>
<p>Eddie wringed his hands together through the sleeves of Richie’s hoodie, his face slightly scrunched. “I don’t… think there were a lot of other… dolls. I usually only saw a few… maybe a dozen at a time get housed there.”</p>
<p>Richie watched Eddie’s face carefully as he asked, “Where did they keep you guys?”</p>
<p>“In beds,” said Eddie, rubbing his sleeves together uncomfortably. “Cuffed up to posts. They didn’t just let us sleep; they’d give us stuff to knock us out.”</p>
<p>“They did a good job keeping you in shape, though,” Richie blurted stupidly. <em> Not your best timing, Rich. </em>“We don’t have to keep talking about it,” Richie informed Eddie gently. “Unless you think it’ll help?”</p>
<p>Eddie gave him just the tiniest bit of a nod. “Maybe it would help if… I was distracted with something else while we talked.”</p>
<p>Richie smiled at him encouragingly. “Sure, Eds. What would you like to do?”</p>
<p>
  <b>***</b>
</p>
<p>“You guys played… Yahtzee?” Stan asked slowly over the phone.</p>
<p>“And Crazy Eights,” Richie sighed. “After I showed him some card tricks.”</p>
<p>“Unbelievable. Now he’s…?” </p>
<p>Richie looked over at Eddie’s passed out body on the couch, snoring into the sofa pillow.</p>
<p>“He’s sleeping. He deserves some sleep without being drugged up,” Richie said defensively. “How do you feel about arson?”</p>
<p>“I’m <em> sorry?” </em> Stanley replied incredulously. </p>
<p>“You know, just — emptying a building of all civilian life and setting it on fire. That sort of thing.”</p>
<p>“Are you talking about the… the Dollhouse?” Stan asked, lowering his voice. </p>
<p>“No, your father’s fucking synogogue.”</p>
<p>“Sarcastic hate crimes aside,” Stan sighed — Richie could just <em> see </em> how flustered he must’ve looked. “Why are you developing vigilante plans while I am at work? Call the fucking police, Richie.”</p>
<p>“They’re adults, Stan. Some of them are men — you know damn well how the police would take to that. They wouldn’t listen. They’d think they were just a bunch of sluts and queers. It would be difficult to prove it was anything but voluntary.”</p>
<p>“All right, that’s… fair. But look, I’m not going to be able to come over tonight. If he’s sleeping, there’s no point anyway. I can see if I can make it by noon tomorrow. Is anyone expecting you anywhere?”</p>
<p>“Steve is appropriately expecting me on my couch drinking bourbon until my next booking,” Richie scoffed. “Listen, before you do go… is there any reason you think Eddie would be shouting nonsense words?”</p>
<p>“What kind of words?”</p>
<p>“I just said: <em> nonsense. </em>Completely random.”</p>
<p>“They may <em> seem </em> random, but are they? Try writing them down and finding a pattern.”</p>
<p>“I doubt it. He just muttered a bunch of shit like <em> hamstring </em> and <em> pumpernickel— </em> ” <em> Oh. </em>“Oh no.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Richie sat on his bed, looking over at Eddie shamefully. The realization finally hit him when he said it aloud. “He’s saying safewords. Like, they let us pick safewords to tell the… the <em> dolls, </em> you know, so they would stop. But <em> he </em> used mine when I was with him, that’s… how I realized something was wrong. Like, a doll wouldn’t need one, you know? Shit. He’s probably tried saying them a bunch before me, without anyone listening... ”</p>
<p>“All of it is probably cycling through his head,” Stan said quietly. “I can’t imagine how much that hurts. That’s probably why he’s saying them now. Nothing else has worked until you listened to him.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s just… really fucking sad.”</p>
<p>
  <b>***</b>
</p>
<p>The weight on the mattress didn’t alert Richie right away; nor did being rolled over onto his back. For some reason, it was the strong stench of alcohol that punctured his senses and woke him up. It didn’t take long after stirring to realize Eddie was straddling him. Peering over, Richie could see his now-empty bourbon bottle turned over on the coffee table.</p>
<p>“Eds, what are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I had a crush on you, too, you know,” Eddie slurred, swaying slightly before grabbing Richie’s shirt to steady himself. “In high school. I wanted to get with you so badly.”</p>
<p>“That’s fantastic, Eddie, but what the hell are you doing <em> now?” </em></p>
<p>Eddie scowled down at him and scoffed, blowing stale liquor smell in Richie’s face. “Oh, I get it. Fine enough to rent, not good enough to keep?”</p>
<p>“What — no, that’s not — Eddie, I can’t do this with you right now. I just took you out <em> yesterday </em> and you’re wasted for fucks sake.”</p>
<p>Richie attempted to get up and Eddie shoved him back down with whatever tiny, mighty force he had in his body. </p>
<p>“I want to make my own goddamn decisions.”</p>
<p>“That’s great, Eds. You can do whatever you want with yourself; but for me, I’m deciding <em> no.” </em> </p>
<p>He pouted at Richie like a child, dejected, but he rolled over gracelessly onto the mattress, curling up in the ball facing away from Richie. Richie sighed and looked over to his nightstand, letting out a groan when he saw it was still four in the morning. </p>
<p>“Can you at least spoon me, for fucks sake?” Eddie grumbled.</p>
<p>“No, Eds. You might be upset in the morning.”</p>
<p>“It’s not <em> rapey, </em> it’s <em>cuddling,</em> and I’m <em>asking</em>.”</p>
<p>Richie sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He rolled over, hovering over Eddie slightly. “I don’t want to make you feel unsafe if you wake up with my giant ape body draped on top of you.”</p>
<p>There was a moment of pause before Eddie spoke again with a more delicate tone. “Please?”</p>
<p>“Goddamnit,” Richie mumbled. He leaned over the side of his bed and yanked out an extra blanket from beneath, throwing it over Eddie so they could be under the separate blankets. <em> This is definitely a bad idea, </em> Richie thought, right before falling back to sleep curled up around Eddie. He hoped, at the very least, Eddie felt safer this way.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Move</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This wasn’t meant to be very long. I just wanted to play with this idea and ran with it a little bit. </p><p>We’re almost at the end, thank you guys for sticking with this &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
Stanley had voiced his concerns about letting Eddie come with them to smoke out the Dollhouse. However, Eddie </span>
  <em>
    <span>insisted</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted to come — </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to watch it burn,” he had said to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plan wasn’t perfect. After hours, they were going to break in and wake up all the do-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span> trapped in there and get them out. Stanley knew a friend who worked at a mobile crisis and had planned to call them instead. This way, the police didn’t necessarily need to be involved right away. They’d call in about a group of poor, delirious people with some apparent psychosis and have them sent to hospitals. Hopefully, this would be for the best. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go with them?” Richie asked Eddie cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? To be psychoanalyzed and fucking probed, like these sickos did to my brain in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hospital will try and </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, Eddie,” Richie pleaded. “You can’t just walk out on the streets like this. You know, when I was in rehab, they sent me to the psych unit for a little bit and even helped me find housing until I got my apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Eddie asked, his demeanor relaxing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Richie assured him. “And if you need some training wheels to help you out, I’ll be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We oughta get started, fellas,” Stanley said, saving Richie from an embarrassing admittance of feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Eddie said determinedly. “We can do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you keep look out?” Richie offered. The scowl he received in return was definitely a hard </span>
  <em>
    <span>no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I even want to ask how you learned James Bond-style breaking and entering skills?” Stanley asked as Eddie played with the alarm keypad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like it’s a cipher,” Eddie said, face full of concentration as he held the flashlight steady over the numbers. “These things are pretty damn easy when they’ve imprinted numbers in your head over and over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would they have given you a number like this?” Stanley asked skeptically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They didn’t have to. But it’s… there. Someone must have given the number or changed it while I was…” His body gave a small shudder, but he ignored it and pressed a series of 8 numbers. To their surprise, the bolt to the door opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably figured you’d never be out here to use it,” Stanley mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, let’s hurry up,” Richie pleaded, pulling the heavy metal door open and gesturing them both in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stayed close to Richie’s side as he led them down the hallway Richie had carried him out of just a few days ago. It was eerie and quiet, with the exception of a heavy generator somewhere hidden behind one of the many doors. As they got closer and closer to the far end of the hallway, Eddie began shaking and clinging onto Richie’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’re ok,” Richie assured him, reaching over to take Eddie’s hand to give it a squeeze. “It’s just us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate it here,” Eddie whined. “God I hate it here so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t be long,” Stan said. Before they got to the last door, he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll text my friend and let them know to send someone so that they don’t have to wait so long for help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nodded and Richie reached for the door handle; locked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, both of you stand back,” Richie sighed, gently guiding Eddie behind Stan. “I’ll have to throw my weight into the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All those donuts and beer finally coming to good use?” Stan chortled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knew being a slob would be my super power?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heavy or not, Richie felt his shoulder and arm muscles strain with each thrust into the door until he finally broke it open. He knew he’d be feeling that later, but he’d deal with it then. This room looked much like the other rooms Richie had been in, except this one was nothing but beds. Like Eddie had said, there were probably about a dozen, all but three filled with a resting body. Richie couldn’t help but think about the pods from the Matrix as he saw their arms and legs cuffed and a breathing apparatus on each face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s keeping them asleep?” he asked Eddie cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nodded feebly as Stan knelt down to open a bag he carried in. Next to the gasoline and lighter, Stan had pliers, blades, and scissors to utilize and let anyone lose. Richie wanted to get to work right away, but Eddie was shaking like a tree in a storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you wait out in the hall?” Richie suggested, carefully placing a hand on Eddie’s trembling shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be alone,” Eddie whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be right in here. But I don’t want you breaking down on us, Eds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you wait out in the hall with him while I cut them all out?” Stan offered. “Then when we’re ready to carry them out, I’ll need your help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a word, Eddie yanked Richie out into the hall by the sleeve and Richie followed compliantly. Eddie was breathing in those weird short breaths, muttering to himself words that Richie now understood to be the recycling safety words that never worked to save him before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“December… Karaoke… Jupiter… Beacon… Spaghetti…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should go with the mental health workers when they come,” Richie said as gently as he could. “They’ll be able to help you way better than Stan and I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stopped talking and looked up at Richie, his large eyes swimming in tears. “I don’t think I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can,” Richie said encouragingly. “You know how strong you are for getting through this? Everything you told me you’ve been through? I gotta tell ya, I don’t think I know anyone else that brave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Eddie whispered, a single tear streaming down his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Richie smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, all they could hear were the sounds of Stan cutting the fabric cuffs in the next room. Then, very quietly, Eddie spoke again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He came to see me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The guy I lived with,” Eddie elaborated, looking down as more tears fell from his eyes. “He’d keep coming to see me. He’d give me my name — Eddie. Sometimes. Sometimes he’d call me other… not so nice things. But he kept coming here and — he’d remind me about stuff until they wiped me again. The way he’d touch me wasn’t just cruel, it was… </span>
  <em>
    <span>evil.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eds…” Richie whispered, tentatively reaching forward to take his hand. “I’m really sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told him too much,” Eddie went on. “Before, when I lived with him, I used to actually… </span>
  <em>
    <span>confide</span>
  </em>
  <span> in him. I didn’t have anyone else, so… He used those things to fuck with me. Things my mom did or said… things I…” He gulped audibly, giving Richie’s hand a squeeze. “He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>spaghetti</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the safeword. He thought it was funny when I’d remember… I could remember you calling me that. I told him about you… my first crush.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gimme this fuckers name and I’ll certainly crush something,” Richie muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve already done enough for me, Rich.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There may not be a Dollhouse anymore after tonight, Eds. But if that guy is still out there, I don’t want to think about him thinking he can still somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>find </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited in the silence, holding his hand up when Stan came out, not wanting Eddie to hesitate further. Finally, Eddie let out a sigh and in a quivering voice, “Patrick Hockstetter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has your number,” Stanley assured Richie quietly in the car. “I’m sure he’ll call you soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could still see the cloud of smoke in the rearview mirrors from the Dollhouse — or whatever was left of it. Mobile crisis teams had come to check on the stirring bodies they brought outside; eight people whose face may possibly haunt Richie for a very long time. Though, not as bad as the doe-eyes that watched Richie fade away as they were taken to the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t deserve that,” Richie muttered to Stan, turning right sharply at a red light without looking. “Seriously, if Eddie is half as smart as you, he’ll know I’m not worth calling back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, aren’t I?” Stanley replied. “What, just because we don’t fuck anymore, means I don’t want to be your friend? That had nothing to do with you Richie, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stanley sighed. “It was nothing to do with you and everything to do with me not having </span>
  <em>
    <span>my own shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> figured out. Besides, why are you bringing that shit up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I have to go to a whorehouse to have a connection with someone, apparently,” Richie scoffed. “Eddie deserves much better than that. So do you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop throwing yourself a pity party. Maybe you both are the perfect amount of fucked up together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that always works well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rich… we just passed the turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not taking you home yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan perked his head up to look up at him skeptically. “Where the hell are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My weed dealer,” Richie said simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really getting fucking dope right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one calls it </span>
  <em>
    <span>dope,</span>
  </em>
  <span> grandpa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pot, </span>
  </em>
  <span>whatever. You’re stopping to pick up weed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie did not even wait for Patrick’s door to open before he shoved his weight into it, knocking Patrick over onto his skinny ass. If Stan hadn’t waited in the car, he probably would’ve found a way to stop Richie from straddling Patrick right there on the floor and pounding his fist into the fuckers face. Richie was pretty sure all he could see was red — and it wasn’t just the blood splattering from Patrick’s mouth onto the floor from Richie’s knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t stop until Patrick’s face looked nothing more than raw meat. He could still hear Patrick’s ragged breathing, wet wheezing noises whistling from his broken nose. His hands shook as he stood up and stared down at the bloody mess. He almost wished Patrick </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> breathing anymore, but he had a feeling that Patrick could very well drown in his own blood, watching it pool in his mouth. Whether he lived or not, Richie didn’t care too much. He walked around the apartment until he found pen and paper.</span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>For Being a Rapist Shit</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Richie pulled out the suture stapler he had taken out of Stanley’s EMT bag. He lifted Patrick’s shirt and stapled the note to Patrick’s barely moving torso; just in case the fucker </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>live.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>All of Richie’s boxes had finally been unpacked in his new apartment. He finally caved in for a two bedroom, hoping one could serve as an office. Having a separate space for his work bullshit became a necessity. There was too much to process, even if it did come out in the form of self-deprecating jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too bad they were all still fabricated lies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bitter taste was left in Richie’s mouth after his last conversation with Stan. Apparently, he had started dating a woman named Patty; a teacher. Really, Richie was happy for Stan. He just couldn’t help but feel bad for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the emptiness and hollow feeling left in Richie’s chest, he still went on to his gigs. People laughed. He made money. Hopefully, he’d keep making enough money to stay in this decent sized apartment without going broke. Most of his money went to bills, anyway; he didn’t go out anymore. He ate his dinners at home, alone. He watched his movies at home, alone. At one point, he tried to download one of those stupid dating or hook-up apps on his phone, but it just didn’t feel right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead, here he sat, eating lo mein in his slippers on the couch, enjoying that his living room was not a literal two feet from his bed. His phone began to ring beside him and a familiar paranoia crept through him. Every time it rang, he half-suspected it would be the police or some kind of investigator looking for the man who committed arson to the sex-slave building downtown, or beat the shit out of the lowly drug dealer by his old studio two months ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some weird part of him didn’t really care if anyone found out. It’s not like he had done either of those things with ill intentions. Quite the opposite, actually. Fuck anyone who would tell him otherwise. So, like he always did, Richie answered the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Richie sighed. He nearly dropped his plate to the floor when he heard the voice on the other line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, big guy.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for coming on this small little journey &lt;3 this was never meant to be a big project, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Special thanks to ghostnebula and pinkmedusa for always being my beautiful betas 💗</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
<p><br/>The cup of tea was still steaming hot when Eddie attempted to drink it again, grimacing as the heat hit his throat. Richie said nothing as he watched Eddie gulp it down eagerly, as if he was trying to quench a long thirst. Or perhaps, maybe he was willing to burn his tongue to avoid talking. </p>
<p>At first glance, Eddie looked immensely different; his movements were fluid and natural, no longer tense or scared. There was still a hesitation under the surface, but it was more reminiscent of the shy boy Richie had known in high school. His hair had grown back since chopping it off at Richie’s sink a couple months ago. Though his face looked healthy, Richie could tell Eddie had thinned out, prioritizing his mental well-being over keeping up with a work-out routine. There was a shameful moment when Richie wondered what Eddie would look like with his shirt off now; he tried to brush it away until Eddie rested a hand on his knee.</p>
<p>He looked up Richie meaningfully, setting his mug down without breaking his gaze. Richie held his breath waiting for Eddie to finally speak again, preparing himself for whatever Eddie could possibly say.</p>
<p>“Your comedy routine sucks, dude.”</p>
<p>Ok, Richie wasn’t expecting that. “I’m sorry?”</p>
<p>“I saw your show,” Eddie continued, the sides of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “You somehow managed to get even less funny as you got older — not to mention it’s all a crock of shit.”</p>
<p>“Do you think everything in comedy shows is real, Eds?” Richie chuckled uncomfortably.</p>
<p>“No, but good comedy always gets its basis in reality; and you’re still shoving yours down the garbage disposal with a fork. I literally <em> cringed </em> listening to how straight you were trying to sound.”</p>
<p>Richie shrugged, smiling sadly back at him. “I guess I still need to keep my dirty little secrets to myself.”</p>
<p>He could feel Eddie’s fingers twitch where they rested on Richie’s leg. Richie wanted so badly to touch him back, but more than anything, he wanted to make sure Eddie was ok.</p>
<p>“Where are you staying?” he asked casually.</p>
<p>“In a group home. I have a social worker there, but she wants me to be stable for a couple more months before looking for work.”</p>
<p>“That’s not a bad idea,” said Richie. “You should take the time to, you know… focus on getting better. Take a break from work, relationships…”</p>
<p>“Why?” Eddie asked a little sharply. “Am I too broken to share the comfort of the company I choose?”</p>
<p>“What — no, that’s not… I just mean… I don’t know,” Richie admitted. His limbs were shaking with nervousness, but Eddie lifted a hand and took Richie’s chin, warm and gentle under his face. He couldn’t help but reach up to touch Eddie’s wrist, reciprocate some kind of gesture. As his thumb brushed under Eddie’s sleeve, he frowned as he felt a rough patch of skin.</p>
<p>Eddie sheepishly pulled his hand away, fingering just under the hem of his sleeve. “I made the mistake of trying to scratch the barcode off.”</p>
<p>“Scratch it off?” Richie intoned cautiously, taking Eddie’s hand back to expose the top of his wrist. Where a thick, black barcode had been months ago, Richie could only see a faint outline of the tattoo beneath thick, criss-crossed scars.</p>
<p>“It was right after I got there,” Eddie mumbled. “I haven’t done anything like it since; promise. I’ve been — well, I probably won’t ever be good again, but I’m better.”</p>
<p>“Not going to leave the group home for another schlub, I hope,” Richie deadpanned. </p>
<p>“Do you consider yourself a schlub?”</p>
<p>“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Richie laughed humorlessly. “You’ve known me long enough to know that.”</p>
<p>“I think you’re just feeling bad for yourself,” Eddie said seriously. “You can’t accept that maybe you deserve something you want, so you just stuff it all inside and live like a sad sack.”</p>
<p>“Did you ride all the way over here to be a brat and shit all over me? ‘Cause if you’re trying to turn me on, it’s working.” The second the joke left his mouth, Richie felt queasy, but Eddie only smiled back up at him. Being gentle and trying to step around his feelings probably wasn’t something Eddie wanted. When they were kids, Eddie usually appreciated Richie’s inappropriate jokes; even if he pretended that he didn’t.</p>
<p>“Figured out my secret motive,” Eddie teased back. He scooted closer and pulled his arm from Richie’s grip to cup Richie’s cheek; his small hand caressed the stubble there as he watched Richie’s face nervously. “Is this ok?”</p>
<p>“You don’t owe me anything, Eddie,” Richie told him sincerely.</p>
<p>“I know I don’t.” Eddie sighed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, nuzzling his face into Richie’s shoulder. Richie flinched at the intimacy, but quickly sank into it, reciprocating by holding Eddie around the waist. “You know, they did a really good job getting all that shit out of my head,” Eddie whispered, his hot breath tickling Richie’s neck. “But I couldn’t seem to flush you out.”</p>
<p>Richie shifted uncomfortably, thinking about that night he had taken advantage of Eddie, still under the false impression that Eddie hadn’t even been real. “Eds, I’m… I’m sorry I hurt you like that.”</p>
<p>“Intentions matter, Richie,” Eddie said quietly. He pulled away just enough to look Richie in the eyes; their noses were practically touching. “You’re a good person. I know you don’t think that, but you are. You stopped when I asked you to; even when you thought I was a doll, you still felt bad. Besides, I tried to jump you in your own bed.”</p>
<p>“You were drunk,” Richie shrugged. “I don’t hold that against you. You stopped, too.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m… not drunk now. And you know who I am…”</p>
<p>“Yes and no,” Richie smiled. “It’s been a few years. I’d like to get to know you more.”</p>
<p>“Is that a promise?” Eddie whispered; his large eyes shimmered with emotion, piercing Richie’s soul.</p>
<p>“If you’d let me,” Richie said. “Only if you let me.”</p>
<p>“Can I… kiss you?”</p>
<p>As Richie nodded, trying to find the words stuck in his throat, Eddie pushed himself up and crashed his lips into Richie’s. Without hesitation this time, Richie cupped the back of Eddie’s head, his other arm still around Eddie’s waist to hold him tight. Eddie was pushing more than Richie was letting him, but eventually settled into a sweet, tender kiss as he snuck onto Richie’s lap.</p>
<p>“Is this ok?”</p>
<p>“You can do whatever you want, Eds,” Richie heard himself say, kissing down Eddie’s neck. </p>
<p>“I hope this isn’t weird,” Eddie panted, digging his fingers into Richie’s hair while Richie sucked on the nape of his neck. “But I… I can remember all the stuff you like. We can… do some of that, if you want.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want, Eds,” Richie murmured, pulling Eddie’s shirt to the side to kiss his collarbone.</p>
<p>“I do want to,” Eddie assured him. “I want to make you feel good.”</p>
<p>Richie looked up at him as Eddie took Richie’s face in both of his small hands. “I want you to <em> tell </em> me what you want.”</p>
<p>Eddie leaned down and Richie felt his hot breath whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.”</p>
<p>It was like velvet against his skin, like warm honey dripping down his spine as Richie groaned and squeezed Eddie’s thighs. He could feel Eddie grin against his ear before nibbling his earlobe <em> exactly </em> the way Richie liked. He doesn’t remember writing that down anywhere at the Dollhouse; maybe Eddie was just good at that.</p>
<p>Richie laid in the bed, both patient and eager, while he let Eddie strip them both of their clothes. His skin tingled in every place Eddie caressed, his small fingers delicately brushing over Richie’s forearms and torso and chest. Watching Eddie do this with his full mental capacity was so endearing, but Richie felt so <em> unworthy </em> under Eddie’s gaze.</p>
<p>“I cannot look at our bodies together like this and figure out what the fuck you see in me,” Richie admitted with a chuckle. “You have, like, the Camaro of bodies, and I’m just one of those boxy PT Cruiser’s.”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” Eddie chuckled, kissing up Richie’s chest. “Miata’s are better.”</p>
<p>“Ah, that’s actually more fitting for you; the little gay car.”</p>
<p>“And you’re built with a dad-bod. Kinda fitting for you, huh, Daddy?”</p>
<p>Richie moaned from the back of his throat as Eddie grinned up at him. He crawled his way up until he was hovering right over Richie, face to face and straddling his lap.</p>
<p>“Don’t you wanna touch me, Daddy?”</p>
<p>“Fuck — yes,” Richie blurted out, letting his hands roam up both of Eddie’s sides. Eddie practically purred when Richie’s thumbs brushed his nipples and squeezed his thighs together around Richie’s waist.</p>
<p>“Here,” Eddie breathed, grabbing the lube Richie had pulled out and thrusting it into Richie’s hand. “I want you to open me up. Stretch me out for your cock.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Richie murmured, hurriedly trying to squeeze the gel onto his fingers. </p>
<p>Eddie lifted his hips so Richie could reach beneath Eddie’s hard cock and balls, slipping two fingers back between Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie held himself up on all fours, tabled over Richie as he threw his head back with a content sigh at the sensation of Richie touching him. Richie was careful and slow, teasing Eddie’s hole and rubbing his fingers around the rim. With an air of impatience, Eddie rocked his hips back and forth, trying to force Richie’s fingers to breach him. Once he let out a high-pitched, <em> “Please,” </em> Richie couldn’t stop himself.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Eddie gasped, sitting his ass down into Richie’s hand so Richie’s fingers slid up into him. “Fuck that feels so good.”</p>
<p>“Hold on, Eds, don’t hurt yourself,” Richie chuckled, enamored with the sight above him. “Do you just want my fingers to make you come?”</p>
<p>Eddie shook his head fervently. “Your cock — please, Daddy, I wanna feel good on your cock.”</p>
<p>“Give me a few minutes then, ok?” Richie cooed, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s waist to hold him still. They didn’t need a safeword, because Richie was adamant about stopping the second Eddie said so, even giving him the faintest inclination of a <em> no. </em> But Eddie only moaned and whined and writhed on top of Richie while he fingers into him until there were tears in his eyes. “Does it hurt?”</p>
<p>“No, feels so good, Daddy,” Eddie blabbered. “Fuck I want you so bad I wanna feel your cock in me, Daddy.”</p>
<p>A low growl erupted from Richie’s chest and he used all of his willpower to keep his fingers steady. He had four fingers in now, an abundance of lube dripping down his hand and wrist.</p>
<p>“You wanna fuck me now, baby?” Richie asked gently, pulling his fingers out and making Eddie gasp. “Do what you want — I’m all yours.”</p>
<p>After weeks of nothing but loneliness and porn, Richie prayed that he would last long enough for Eddie to come on his dick. He cursed under his breath when he felt the tight warmth sinking him deeper in, relishing in the blissed out look on Eddie’s face. Both of Eddie’s palms laid flat on Richie’s chest, nails digging in deep as he bounced up and down enthusiastically. Richie’s chest swelled with euphoria watching a smile blossom on Eddie’s face, joyful tears welling up in his eyes; he looked so damned surprised to feel so good and <em> happy </em> for the first time in god knows how long.</p>
<p>“You want me to keep touching you?” Richie asked, watching Eddie’s cock slap his stomach with each thrust.</p>
<p>“Please,” Eddie cried, pulling Richie’s hand right to his cock. He let out another small cry as Richie started stroking it. Richie watched Eddie’s stomach tense and felt all of Eddie’s muscles clench around where Richie’s cock was buried inside of him. He couldn’t bear to look away from Eddie’s face and felt a shock when his own orgasm hit him simultaneously with Eddie. Just as Eddie’s cum spilled onto Richie’s stomach, Eddie leaned down and crashed his lips into Richie, both of them moaning into each other's mouths as they moved together slowly through their orgasms. </p>
<p>Eddie was trembling, tears falling softly onto his cheeks and onto Richie’s as he broke their kiss. Richie opened his eyes, taking Eddie’s face in his hands to look him in the eyes, wiping under them with his thumbs. </p>
<p>“Are you ok?”</p>
<p>Eddie nodded, letting out a small hiccup. “I’m ok.”</p>
<p>Richie smiled up at him sadly and let Eddie rest his head in the crook of his neck. His breathing was soft, but Richie still felt the warm tears falling gently on his shoulder as he rubbed up and down Eddie’s back. Hesitancy hung in the air as Richie softly kissed the top of Eddie’s head. </p>
<p>“Are you <em> going </em> to be ok?”</p>
<p>To his surprise, Eddie let out a small laugh, nodding against Richie’s neck. “I will — I am. You have no idea how much I wanted this. I just — I’m overwhelmed. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.”</p>
<p>Richie couldn’t help but smile into Eddie’s hair, wrapping his arms protectively around Eddie’s body, sheltering him there as long as he needed it. Whatever Eddie wanted, whatever would make him happy; that’s all Richie could ask for.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for stopping by. I hope you enjoy what is here so far.</p>
<p>Come holla at me on tumblr @ fuckbitchesgetreddie</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>